


On the Brightside

by greerian



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Canon Compliant, Dysphoria, Identity Issues, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Self-Harm, Spanking, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 09:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6798994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerian/pseuds/greerian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arnold's parents were a pretty traditional couple; his dad, dominant; his mom, submissive. It never really occurred to Arnold what he might be until his dad took a hold of him and said "Remember, son: you're a <i>follower</i>."</p><p>And follower is just another name for <i>submissive</i>, so Arnold never really questioned his designation after that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Brightside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mirimea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirimea/gifts).



> So, this was prompted by Mirimea, and is set in a variation of their BDSM universe. If the idea of dom/sub dynamics bothers you, this is definitely not your kind of fic. All triggers should be in the tags, but if I forgot anything please feel free to let me know.  
> Dysphoria tag is for the feelings that Kevin and Arnold undergo throughout the course of the story regarding their designations (dominant or submissive). 
> 
> This was supposed to be three sentences. Ha.  
> (Bolded words removed by request)

Arnold's parents were a pretty traditional couple; his dad, dominant; his mom, submissive. It never really occurred to Arnold what he might be until his dad took a hold of him and said "Remember, son: you're a _follower_."

And follower is just another name for _submissive_ , so Arnold never really questioned his designation after that.

He was assigned to a dominant, too, for his mission, and that sort of sealed the deal. But not just _any_ dominant; it was _Elder Price_ , the tallest, handsomest, brightest, nicest, most righteous dominant to have ever graced the hallowed halls of the Provo Missionary Training Center. Or so Arnold had heard the other subs say. He thinks his new companion is _amazing_ , of course (Elder Price is going to be his dom for two years, after all; he kind of _has_ to), but he never really noticed before, himself. He was too busy just trying to get through the training and _not get sent home_ to wait for two years while every other guy in the church got to go out and spread the Word.

But he makes it to the airport, and once they're past security and have their boarding passes in hand Arnold really gets to _know_ Elder Price, and he finds: those chatty subs were right. Elder Price really is all they said he would be, and _more_.

He's determined, and strong, and he makes sure Arnold knows _exactly_ what they're going to do, and what the plan is. Arnold finds himself following Elder Price's - _Kevin's_ \- lead without a second thought. It's not hardcore submission, but it still gives Arnold a good feeling inside; he's doing something right just because Kevin is.

At least, until they get to Uganda. Then, Arnold goes haywire, and not even Kevin's firm hand around his wrist (when he sees fit to give it) is enough to distract Arnold from the guy _beating his wife_ against the side of a house. Half the people here are half-naked, which makes the village a quarter naked, he guesses, and the stuff that they _do_ wear is either dirty tank tops from the 90s or actual, real-life leather _harnesses_ , like they're just going to drop to the ground and start _doing it_ in the middle of the road.

Kevin seems about as thrown as Arnold is.

It's not so bad at first, not until Kevin pulls him aside and commands that he stop dancing with them, that what they're doing and saying is _bad_. And... Arnold doesn't really get that. The dancing was calming him down, they're just saying nonsense words, and they seem to like Arnold even though he's wearing a lot more clothes than them, but Kevin purses his lips and snaps "What they're doing is _heathen_ , Elder. It's a _disgusting_ display, and you shouldn't be a part of it."

And, Kevin _is_ his dom, so Arnold hangs back, even when the people gesture for him to join (and pull at his shirt, and try to wrap leather cuffs around his hands). Obeying him doesn't give Arnold the same safe feeling as before, though. More like Kevin is putting together a puzzle, and Arnold is a piece that doesn't fit.

But then Na Bon Jovi brings them to the District Nine mission house, and as much as everybody else was dressed up (or down), she's just wearing a regular dress. It doesn't say 'dom', but it doesn't really say 'sub', either. Arnold is confused.

But Kevin doesn't offer any comfort or explanation (even when Arnold really wants him to, after she neatly lists off everything that could kill them in their sleep), and you don't just ask stuff like that. That's _rude_ and _personal;_  too personal. Besides, Kevin wants to get inside. Arnold follows him with a quick wave and smile over his shoulder at her.

"The new recruits are here!" someone cries as they step through the door, and then they're surrounded with black and white uniforms and brightly smiling faces, and Arnold's shoulders drop as he sees Kevin relax. These are the people they _know_ , even if the individual names and faces are unfamiliar. These are fellow elders, doms and subs who keep their dom- and sub-ness to _appropriate places_ and _appropriate times_ , and Arnold can already tell Kevin likes that comfort. It's kind of weird, actually, because that's not particularly _dominant_ , but they've both had a rough day and Arnold is more than willing to forget about it.

" _Welcome_ , Elder Price and Elder Cunningham," a beaming redhead says, stepping forward to take their hands. "I am Elder McKinley, current district leader of this area of the Ugandan mission."

Oh, so _he's_ the head dom. Arnold looks up at him after he ducks his head appropriately, and he _is_ very tall, but... there's something not very dom-y about him.

Or maybe Arnold's head is just screwing with him after seeing all those crazy people outside in their leather and tank tops, and he's forgetting what a normal dom looks like _already_.

Arnold clings to Kevin tightly throughout the introductions, then: "Elder Church, and I'm a sub, originally from the _great_  city of Cheyenne, Wyoming!" and "Elder Michaels, sub, from Provo," and "that's Elder Neeley and Elder Davis, both doms," and "this is my sub, El-"

"They call me Elder Poptarts, 'cause I love 'em so much!"

Arnold gasps at the blatant interruption. Elder McKinley isn't just Elder Poptarts' dom, he's the _head dom_ , and Poptarts just interrupted him like-

But McKinley just laughs and brushes it off. _Everyone_ does, and _okay_ , maybe it's not just the people who live here who are a little crazy.

"Well _sit_ , sit," Elder McKinley invites hospitably, and Kevin and Arnold are herded over to a frumpy, sagging couch that's so darn bottomless that the two of them end up pressed together, thigh by thigh.

"We've all been here together for about three months now," McKinley announces proudly, "spreading the word of Christ and saving the souls of the _fine_ Ugandan people through _baptism_."

Kevin's face lights up. "How many have you baptized so far?"

"Um... zero."

Zero? Oh, that's not good.

Kevin doesn't think so, either, and in a second he's pushing himself up and off the couch, as far away from the other elders as the little living room will allow.

And of course Arnold follows. That's what a good sub does, right?

"Hey, you all right, partner?"

"Yeah," Kevin says, exhaling sharply. His hands are clenched in fists at his sides, and for a second Arnold has the really strange urge to try and rub his shoulders or something, to get the tension out. "Yeah, I'm just feeling a little... _confused_ right now, is all."

The other elders nods sympathetically.

"There _is_ a lot in Uganda that can be... disturbing," Elder McKinley tells him, "but just as long as you're not confused about your designation or your mission here, Elder, I'm sure you're going to be _just fine_. We've all been through the same thing, and, with the assistance of your companion and _Heavenly Father_ , I'm sure you'll be able to work through it."

"Right," Kevin says, smiling. His shoulders don't relax at all. "You're right; I just need to stay focused and _pray_."

"Exactly!" McKinley chirps. "All right, elders, I'm sure our new friends are _exhausted_ from their trip. Let's show them to their room, shall we?" He clasps his hands together like he's just too excited for them, and then Kevin and Arnold are being ushered down the hallway to a little bitty room with two little bitty beds that look about as comfortable as cardboard.

"Get settled in," Elder McKinley commands sweetly, "because according to the missionary rules, lights out promptly at ten, and then we all get up at exactly six-thirty."

Arnold makes a face - that's _so early_ \- but Kevin doesn't seem surprised at all. Maybe that was in that handbook Arnold was supposed to read. Oh well.

But then Elder McKinley keeps talking, even as Arnold starts to strip off his collared shirt and black pants. "We've heard a lot of great things about you, Elder Price," he says. "We're really hoping you can _turn things around_ here."

Arnold turns to look at Kevin, and then- wow. Huh.

Is he... _blushing_?

"Don't worry, we will," Arnold declares. He hopes Elder McKinley didn't see that reaction on Kevin, because blushing at compliments is _definitely_ not a dom thing, and if Kevin is confused about everything _else_ the last thing he needs is their head dom questioning him about his designation.

"Yes, well," Elder McKinley says. "I guess this is as good a time as any to suggest that the two of you get _acquainted_ , and come up with your _personal set_ of rules, if you haven't already. I don't need to see them or approve them - we like to keep private things _private_ here in District 9 - but, Elder Price, make sure they adhere to the missionary handbook, all right? That means no hanky-panky and no sleeping in the same beds, just in case."

Elder McKinley's face ends up bright pink, and he makes his escape with a quick "Goodnight!", tapping merrily down the hallway.

"What does he think we're going to do, christen the room?" Kevin grumbles.

"What?"

"Nothing. Let's just get some sleep."

"But, aren't we supposed to-"

"We're supposed to be getting some _sleep_."

"But-"

"Am I your dom or aren't I?"

That shuts Arnold right up. He crawls into bed without another word. But he watches, and he sees that his obvious submission doesn't seem to make Kevin feel better. If anything, it makes the white press of his lips together tighter and tenser, and the quick jerks of getting his uniform off even more... jerky.

Arnold doesn't know what he did wrong, and he doesn't like it at all.

 

He finds out, though: "I am not your dom, and I am _not_ your best friend! I was just stuck with you by the missionary training center!"

 

Arnold feels like he's just been slapped.

 "I didn't... I didn't mean to say stuck," Kevin offers, but the damage is done. He didn't mean it, maybe, but doms don't understand what it's like to get _rejected_. It's the stuff of horror stories: rejected subs do the most awful things out of hurt.

But it's not Kevin's fault. It's not his dom's fault subs are sensitive. It's not his fault Arnold is a bad sub.

The remorse in Kevin's eyes is genuine; it's Arnold's fault for taking it so hard. There's nothing to _take hard_ , even. It's just... a misunderstanding. A mis-match. They just... need different things.

"Different things, that's all we need. I'll be _fine_."

"Yes, you will," Kevin says firmly. "You _will_ be fine," and now Arnold has to be, because his- because _a_ dom said so, and now Arnold has to listen to anybody who gives him a command instead of just _Kevin_ , and- and Kevin has the guts to say it was really nice to meet him.

Arnold repeats the words and shakes his hand weakly, pretending like Kevin didn't just yank the ground out from Arnold's feet, and then that's it. He's gone. And Arnold is left alone.

Except for Nala.

Who seems to think he can just take Elder Price's place, now that he's leaving.

"I'm a _follower_ ," he tells her, but "Everyone is waiting," she replies. "Come back to the village, and you will have your listeners."

She takes his hand.

"I swear it."

And then she walks away, like it's just that easy. That's not- is that how it works, though? Can Arnold just... switch? Because it's _doms_ who do stuff like leading revivals, doms like Kevin who lead and give orders and _save people._ It's people like Kevin who do basically what Neosporin is asking for. Those aren't a sub's job. Shouldn't she know that?

But... she doesn't seem to be either a dom or a sub, and Arnold didn't know anybody could do that. He didn't know people could be so _blatant_ about their designations, either, the way people are out here. And they didn't seem to care about how public they were or _weren't_ , or that... that some people have none at all.

What is Arnold thinking? He can't do this. He's a _follower_ , a _sub_. He needs somebody to take care of him, not the other way around. He can't help a whole village. Heck, he's not even good at what he's supposed to be. He just got rejected by his dominant, and now...

Now it's just him. There's nobody to follow. Nobody to tell him what to do.

Just Arnold.

People need him, for once. Somebody _asked_ for him. And all he has to do is help.

That's not so bad, right?

 

Except that nobody but Neutrogena buys it. Arnold can feel the doms in his audience eyeing him, in disbelief that a little sub is trying to tell them about 'shit that happened on the other side of the world hundreds of years ago,' and he wants nothing more for a terrifying few seconds than to plop right down on the ground and cry.

But he finds himself opening his mouth, instead, and saying that the original Mormons had AIDS, and saying it _authoritatively_. Everybody stops.

"Sure they did," he repeats. "Back then, they had even _worse_ AIDS!"

Now that is a _lie_ , straight from the pit of hell, but everyone's watching him, and everyone's listening, and-

Arnold weaves a story the likes of which would kill his parents, but the Ugandans eat it up and maybe he's relying on his imagination a little too much to make it interesting, but they're still here, right? And they're interested. And, and _maybe_ , maybe Arnold can save them.

As he waves cheerfully at them all, turning to head back to the mission house, Arnold thinks: _Hey, this being a dom thing isn't really so hard after all._

The other elders adore him for it.

For the first time, people are turning their backs on someone else in favor of Arnold, and that clinches the deal. There's  _no way_ he's going to give this up now. Especially not for Elder Price, who's miraculously decided to come back and be Arnold's dom again. Well. Too little, too frickin' late. Arnold's his own dom now, and he doesn't need Kevin Price coming in and... and being _Kevin Price_.

Kevin may have been the best back at the MTC, but now Arnold gets to take the lead. Kevin gave up his shot, and Arnold isn't sorry at all.

Not even when he sees how _bad_ Kevin looks at the little coffee stand, days after seeing him for the last time. Arnold is riding a high, and the bags under Kevin's eyes and the coffee cups piled up in front of him just aren't Arnold's problem anymore. He's basically head dom of District 9 now - Elder McKinley handed him _that_ on a silver platter - and he's definitely one of the most respected doms in the village. He doesn't have any reason to care about one pathetic ex-dominant who really has no place-

But Kevin really does look awful. His uniform is all out of whack, skewed and dirty. His hair, once perfect and precise, is falling into his eyes. The things he's saying don't make any sense - Planet Orlando? Sounds like a really bad sci-fi movie, or a theme park ride. But heck, Arnold's telling people Joseph Smith got _down and dirty_ with a frog, so maybe it's not that weird. And... and Kevin is still his companion, _technically_ , even though they haven't even been in the same house - much less the same room - for basically the entire time they've been here in Uganda. Companions are supposed to stick together, and watch out for each other. If they can pretend they've actually done that in front of the mission president, Kevin can go home, and Arnold will have something to prove he's done a good job. It'll be mutually beneficial for the both of them.

And that's _totally_ why Arnold asks Kevin to come back. Not because becoming a dom wakes up all this pity in you, and that pity makes you want to hug and care for everybody, and wanting that somehow extends to the greatest dom you've ever met who also treated you like crap on the bottom of his dust-covered shoes and now is falling apart to the tune of twelve cups of coffee. Definitely not because of that.

Kevin's not dumb, either. He knows asking for a transfer is his only chance to leave - it's what got them separated in the first place - and a transfer is the mission president's job. That doesn't mean he likes it, though, or cleans up for the occasion, or makes anything easier on Arnold. 

Arnold feels the inexplicable urge to straighten out Kevin's shirt, fix his tie, make him look _presentable_ in front of the mission president, like he wants the mission president to be _proud_ , but it passes as soon as he has to cover Kevin's butt.

He lies through his teeth for him, and Elder McKinley _should_ know it, but no one calls him out. Not even Elder Price. For the split second that Arnold can devote to him, he sees that Kevin doesn't look that much better than when he was guzzling caffeine and mumbling about Orlando. He almost looks _worse_ , actually, and Arnold should probably-

"Naba Jamba, what are you doing here?" Arnold asks. She's looking great, but she's also dressed up and that's kind of worrying because Arnold can see at least five things going really, _really_ wrong if she stays for more than 'congratulations,' _just_ off the top of his head.

She wants to show the mission president a play. She wants to tell him the story of the first Mormons. Arnold's heart stops, and it doesn't really start beating again until the final beat of the drum, when the mission president demands, in no uncertain terms, that he needs to speak with them.

His glare is made of stone when he turns to face them all, and Arnold realizes - he has _never_  messed up this badly in his life.

It's like a bolt of lightning, snapping his head back into place. Not only did he throw the missionary handbook and the Book of Mormon out the freaking window, he _refused his designation_. He got rejected by his dom, and then when his dom wanted him back, when he should have jumped at the chance, he turned his back, instead. He thought he was good enough to... this is officially the biggest mess-up in the history of Arnold's nineteen years chock-full of mess ups. This mess-up is so bad, Arnold might actually be able to use the f-word to describe it (and he's probably already going to hell anyway, so why the heck not).

Elder McKinley caves to the mission president's anger, barely even trying to explain himself; though, as the head dom, he has a _lot_ of explaining to do. But this is Arnold's fault, mostly; he messed with how things were supposed to be, and he lied to everyone - the Ugandan people, District Nine, Kevin, himself - in hopes of... doing something right. Being more than just a stupid sub. Being more than a _follower_.

Because none of those things are _bad_ , Arnold knows that, and as the mission president barks at them that the entire mission is shut down he wants nothing more than to have someone else to take the blame, someone else to say what they're going to _do_ , but he never chose that. He doesn't want that. Arnold's been a sub and a dom now, as far as anybody can be _both_ , and he feels the pull of being dominant - of being listened to, of being strong and caring and determined and _right_ \- more than being safe, or soft, or supportive.

But it doesn't matter. You don't get to choose stuff like that. Arnold's little adventure out here, trying to save people and give them a second chance by giving _himself_ one, is over. The game is finished, and he has to pack away the pieces and stuff it back in the cabinet, only to be pulled out in a desperate attempt to make a miserable family home evening better.

Nikki Minaj doesn't get to do that, though. Arnold can just go home and be a failure, but her village is on the knife edge of a warlord attack, and if _that_ isn't proof Arnold should have never tried to be a dom to begin with he doesn't know what is. A real dom would have been able to plan ahead, to see that he was promising stuff that he couldn't possible follow through with, and- a real dom wouldn't be in this mess. A real dom wouldn't break Nabulungi's heart, and leave her in tears, doubting the very God that Arnold got her to believe in.

And a real dom wouldn't have to face- Arnold has to face Kevin.

Looks like neither of them are too good for each other; not Kevin (even with the fact that Kevin is... _was_ Arnold's dom, the fact that he _left_ will never let Arnold think he's perfect again), and _certainly_ not Arnold.

He's just about to get on his knees, to pray and to ask Kevin for some way to punish him for his misbehavior (because that's what good subs do; they don't just want to be punished: they take it into their own hands) when Kevin starts talking. And he doesn't stop.

And, somehow... he manages to see that Arnold meant to do something good, and didn't mean to lead everyone into trouble but actually meant to lead them to something _great;_ the greatness that Arnold finds in church, but also in Star Wars and Star Trek and Lord of the Rings and Battlestar Galactica. And he's not mad. He... he thinks Arnold's even _better_ than he actually was.

"You're not a sub at all, are you?" Kevin asks, meeting Arnold's eyes and smiling. _Smiling_. "No wonder you couldn't- you just had to get your stories out. And I was holding you back, with _my version_ of the scriptures. Yours are the ones that broke through to the people here. Yours are the ones that made _sense_. And isn't that what's important? That the people understand? It's the _truths_ that matter, not the details. We're leading them to _salvation_."

Kevin's smile grows even brighter, and he's _still_ looking at Arnold, and Arnold doesn't know what he did to make Kevin look at him with such naked admiration.

"You were just trying to show everyone..." he says. "You have so much _potential_.

"And we're not going to let that go to waste. You _saved_ this place, Arnold, and that's something _incredible_. You can do it again, I know you can. Come on, let's-"

Arnold cuts him off with a hug so strong Kevin's words end in a huff, breathed out again Arnold's ear.

Arnold doesn't even need to give an explanation; he can feel Kevin's understanding as he, hesitantly, brings his arms up to return the hug. This is _great_. Even when everything fell apart Kevin _stayed here_ , and Kevin thinks he can fix things. The wave of gratitude that hits Arnold is almost enough for him to completely forget all the crap that made this moment happen. But even when he pulls away, even when Kevin takes his arm and drags him back to the village, even when Arnold and Kevin come face to face with General Butt-effing-Naked and his big, buff bodyguards, even when Arnold gets all up in his face and _threatens him_ (and why the heck does the village think he's undead?) he can feel Kevin at his side, being there, and it's... it's really great.

Somehow, with that, everything works out. Really. Kevin convinces everybody to give Arnold another shot, even Elder McKinley. Kalimba declares she's going to throw a party. Naba drags Arnold off to fact check her play (and to tell him she's sorry for misunderstanding, to which he says he's sorry for making her misunderstand, to which she says she's sorry anyway, and then it sort of turns into a mess of apologies and hugs and a little bit of crying when she says she was the one to tell everybody he was dead and it's really because of _her_ the general listened at all). By the time they get back, the party is coming together, and not a single person has any harsh words for Arnold.

He wonders for a while when the other shoe is going to drop; when Kevin is going to stand up and say "Didn't my sub do a great job?"; when Mafala and Gotswana are going to help Kevin put him in his place. But when he's up on the porch of the mission house, giving a speech about how District 9 isn't going to give up and they're going to preach the gospel in whatever way _they_ see fit, they're all watching him and smiling. And at the end Kevin raises his glass and says "Three cheers for Arnold Cunningham!", Elder McKinley laughs from his spot on Poptarts' lap, and Arnold's face goes red. But everyone cheers, and tosses their cups so high they get _lira lira_ everywhere. It's all really, really great.

It isn't until later that he realizes how submissive Kevin's actions were. He only realizes, too, because Kevin doesn't stop. Submissives are encouragers, supporters, and, well, _submissive_. Kevin convinced Arnold that they had enough here to fight for. Kevin helped Arnold fight back against the general. Kevin let Arnold have all the credit for things going well in the end.

For all intents and purposes, Kevin is acting like Arnold's sub.

The thought comes to him in the middle of a story, as fluid and smooth as the words passing his lips, and it takes him a second to realize, one, _that_ doesn't fit, and two- what?

He stops, hands outstretched, and his audience leans forward in anticipation.

"Uh..." he says. "I... I lost my train of thought."

The kids - he's presenting to the elementary school - groan, but Kimbay, the teacher, gives him a look; she thinks something's wrong. He smiles at her and waves her concern away, but now the thought's in his head he can't get it out, not even to finish the story. He throws some sort of cliffhanger at his listeners - definitely not his best work - and starts to walk back to the house. He's reeling, and totally out of it; he honestly chalks it up to pure luck that he doesn't get bitten or tripped by anything on his way. Kevin is acting like his _sub_. _Wow_.

There's no way around it, either. Now that he's thought it, everything that Kevin's done since the coffee stand falls into place so neatly it takes Arnold's breath away. How, though. And _why_. Why would Kevin do that? Does he know he's... is it all just in Arnold's head?

Maybe. But maybe not.

He hurries his steps as the mission house comes in sight. Everybody else should be out with Gotswana helping with the clinic for Immunization Day, but Kevin said he'd stay at the house to make lunch and bring it when Arnold got back, and _holy crap_  if that wasn't just a giant flashing neon sign Arnold doesn't know what _is_.

But Kevin isn't in the kitchen, preparing lunch with a smile (the way Arnold was half-expecting to find him). He's not in the living room, studying scriptures dutifully. He's not in the bathroom. He's not- He's in the bedroom. He's hunched over their desk, and for a split second Arnold thinks that he's writing. But that's not a pen in his hand, and it's not hovering over a piece of paper.

"Woah, woah, Kevin, what- Kevin!"

Kevin's hand jerks, and the knife in his grip slips across the skin of his arm. There's blood. Arnold takes one step into the room before Kevin cries out and tosses the knife into a corner.

"Kevin, what... what are you doing?" Arnold asks. He doesn't dare try to move again. Kevin's head is ducked, but his arm is still braced across the little desk Arnold managed to ~~steal~~ _acquire._ Arnold can see some fainter red marks across Kevin's arm above where the bleeding line is.

"I don't know," Kevin says. It's choked and raw, and he doesn't look up. "I don't- I don't _know_ , there's something wrong with me."

Arnold doesn't know what to say. The silence stretches on, on, _on_ -

"I needed something to hurt," Kevin whispers. "I don't know _why_ , but..." Then he laughs, throwing his head back. "Look at me, whining like a sub- Oh. N- I'm sorry, Arnold, I didn't..." He bites his lip, and his shoulders hunch like he doesn't even realize it, like he just wants to cower somewhere. "It's been trained into me, I guess. To- to think _submissive_ is... bad."

Arnold carefully steps closer. It's a small room; he'll be at Kevin's side in three strides. He's not sure what he's doing, not sure what he's thinking, but Kevin's words are pulling at something deep in his gut, and while that's led to some humiliating things in these past few weeks, Arnold is willing to take a chance on it now.

Kevin continues on, like he doesn't even notice. "I guess that's another thing I... more _crap_ that got shoved down my throat."

"Kevin?" Arnold says, and then he crosses those final few feet. Kevin looks up at him from the flimsy chair he's sitting in, but Arnold's focus is on his arm, and the sluggish drops of blood that fall to the desk below. He reaches out, and brushes his fingertips against the cut. Kevin winces, but he doesn't pull away. He doesn't say anything, either. Arnold's mouth fills the silence, his fingers pressing down.

"Would it be so bad," he asks softly, "to... submit. If you had the right person?"

Kevin looks up at him, and Arnold can hardly believe what he's just asked. Kevin's lips part just a fraction, just enough for Arnold to see the redness where he's bitten them, the shiny inside and the line dividing that tender skin from that which has to face the world. His eyes are still red-rimmed, but the only things Arnold sees in them now are confusion, shock, and- _curiosity_.

So Arnold takes Kevin's wrist in his hand, and he lifts it to his lips, and, so, _so_ gently, he kisses the skin there, so thin he can see the veins beneath. He kisses his way down, all the way to the cut, and, barely hesitating, he licks down it, with one smooth stroke. Kevin whimpers, but he stays perfectly still.

Now Arnold has blood in his mouth, on his tongue and his lips, smeared red across his fingertips, and Kevin... Kevin isn't moving, isn't responding, isn't-

Oh. Arnold knows that look.

"Kevin," he says, firm and strong.

"Yes?" The reply is quick, _eager,_  and Arnold smiles.

"Do you trust me?"

Kevin hesitates, and a little bit of that expression of intoxication slips away. "Arnold-"

"Do you?" Arnold asks, pressing his thumb against that red line. "You're my best friend, Kevin, and I'd do _anything_ for you, but you gotta trust me with this, okay?"

A beat. A sharp nod. A surprised breath.

"Okay," Kevin says. "Make it better."

Arnold almost wants to make him say 'please.' But the urge passes, because Kevin is _submitting_ to him, sharing this with him, _letting him_ try to make this better, this _thing_ that not even Kevin understands. That alone pushes out everything else in Arnold's head.

He steps back and goes to lock their door; he uses the time to breathe in, and breathe out. Arnold may have been marked as a submissive, but not everybody sticks to the rules - _especially_ not Arnold. And Arnold has already proven he can dom in _other_ ways (and with other people). This is just... deeper.

Darker.

"Take off your shirt, shoes, and pants," he says, turning around to face Kevin. "Leave your garments on."

Kevin doesn't even hesitate, stripping out of his clothes before folding them neatly on the desk. They're not touching the blood, the corners of the fabric are lined up precisely, and Kevin's posture is perfect. Arnold is impressed.

"Good job," he says, allowing a little smile to cross his face.

And Kevin responds in kind, looking surprised at himself, but Arnold's grin grows at the sight of it. He just knows **,** even after this, thatthey're going to end up okay.

But the smiles pass quickly. Kevin is still in pain; still _needs_ pain. Arnold still has to make him submit.

"We need a safeword," he says.

"Orlando."

"What?"

"Orlando," Kevin repeats, a blush spreading like spilled paint across his cheeks. "I won't forget it."

And it has nothing to do with- anything they're about to do, so Arnold will notice it.

"Okay," he agrees. Now there's nothing left to do but get started. Arnold takes a deep breath, lets it broaden his chest and straighten his shoulders, and pulls from that little part of him that Nabulungi and Mafala and the other church members believe in. And he says "I'm going to punish you."

Kevin's eyes go wide.

"Because you asked for it," Arnold reminds him, "and _that_ ," pointing to his arm, "is not healthy."

"Okay," Kevin replies, after a long silence in which it becomes clear Arnold isn't going to go on until Kevin says _something_.

"Come here," he commands, and Kevin comes, standing before him with limp arms and wide-eyes, like he can't believe what's happening to him.

Arnold should feel ridiculous, probably, planning _this,_ like Kevin is a wayward child and Arnold is his- he's going to stop the metaphor right there. But it's a safe way of punishing somebody, of bringing pain without making it too bad; of showing a submissive their place.

Arnold just hopes he can do it right.

"Bend over the bed," he says, and Kevin swallows.

He doesn't do it.

"Kevin?"

He doesn't respond, and Arnold moves to step forward.

"Orla-"

"No," Kevin cuts him off. "I'm not going to ask out. I just... need a second."

He takes that second and _more_ , and if Arnold were really his dom and the two of them knew what they were doing he'd have to chastise him for that. Soon enough, though, Kevin does what Arnold asked, bending over the side of his bed. His hips are press firmly into the stiff mattress, and his head is in his hands.

"Head flat on the mattress. And tuck your hands behind your back."

Kevin does, and that pushes his butt out further, and then... it's a little sadistic, but Arnold wishes he still had his video camera, if only so he could save this moment for forever.

Because Kevin Price, pride of the MTC, most dominant dom to ever dom, is bent over for him, with his hands on his back, and his ass up for Arnold to do whatever he wants; undeniably submissive.

Arnold's hands are shaking so much from the _overwhelmingness_ of it that he has to clench them into fists for a second before he can tell Kevin what he's going to do.

"I'm going to spank you," he tells him, coming closer to rest his left hand on the small of Kevin's back. "Fifteen, um, strokes, unless you tell me to stop. I'll count. Are you ready?"

Kevin's nod comes quickly this time; Arnold isn't the only one excited.

"Here we go," he mutters, and then, without waiting (the waiting's the worst part), his hand swings up and then down, onto Kevin's rear.

Kevin jumps, like he wasn't expecting it, and Arnold's other hand splays softly against the small of his back. Arnold's palm tingles, and now that he knows what this feels like he wants _more._ Buthe waits for the safeword, just in case.

Silence.

Strike two. It's harder, now that Arnold knows Kevin can take it, and the slight _smack_ of Arnold's palm, even over the temple garments, makes him shiver.

Three. Four. Five.

Smooth, even strokes. Firm, at least he thinks. He alternates, left and right.

Kevin hasn't made a sound.

So Arnold stops, and pulls both hands away.

"What do you want, Kevin?" he asks. "Harder? Softer? Faster? This is for you, you know, all for-"

A sound falls from Kevin's lips, muffled by the mattress and his arms, but Arnold hears it enough to know it sounds pained.

"Kevin?" he asks, reaching out, the thrill draining away. "Are you o-"

"Fine," Kevin snaps. "I'm fine."

"Oh. Then-"

"Harder, please."

"...what."

" _Harder_. Please, dom. I want-" Kevin's words, dragged from behind his teeth like a curse, end in a whine.

Well. Arnold can do harder.

Six and seven _are_ , but Kevin asks harder again, and then eight - harder - nine - harder - ten-

" _Please_ , Arnold," Kevin cries out. "I need it _harder_."

Arnold bites his lip. But there's the knife in the corner, and the line on Kevin's wrist, and blood on Arnold's fingertips, and Kevin says he _trusts_ him.

His hand comes down _hard_. The sound it pulls out of Kevin is different now, but Arnold can find a word for it: _wrecked_.

His hand starts to burn, but Arnold smiles. He's found the right combination.

He clicks his tongue, running the tip of one finger up Kevin's bare forearm. "Greedy, aren't you?" He says.

Strike number 12. Kevin arches into him.

"I think I'll have to bump it up to twenty strokes, since you're enjoying it so much."

Kevin sobs. " _Please_."

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen follow, hard and heavy as Arnold can bring himself to make them, and they follow a rhythm now. Arnold's more innocent hand presses against Kevin's back, holding him down; his right hand swings through the air; the smack; a cry from Kevin (or a whimper or a whine) and the arch of his back; then a moment of drawing breath, of Arnold bringing his hand back into position.

But there's something he needs to say, something Kevin needs to know.

"Don't cut yourself ever again," he says, low and fierce. "If you feel like that again, come to me, Kevin. Okay?"

Strike sixteen, and now Arnold can hear Kevin crying.

"You're going to come to me, Kevin, do you understand?"

"Yes," Kevin answers. "I won't- I won't do it again, Arnold, I _promise_ , I needed- I..."

"I know." Seventeen. "But this is better, isn't it?"

Is it?

Kevin's head nods jerkily against the mattress. A warm flush of pride climbs up Arnold's throat, even as his hand comes down again.

"Thank you," Arnold murmurs. "Only two more. Can you- do you want that?"

"Yes! Yes, Arnold, p-please, I can't- I can't do it much longer."

Their time is running out. Arnold makes the final strokes fast, but as hard as he can muster, and then, he steps away. Kevin goes boneless against the bed.

Arnold closes his eyes for a second; he can't look at Kevin right now. He tries to climb out of _that_ skin, of the guy who thinks that what just happened was _amazing_ and not even the tiniest bit weird, but when he looks Kevin's shoulders are trembling, and the sound of him, shuddering breaths and choked sobs, is enough to pull Arnold right back into that place.

"Kevin," he says, "Kevin, Kevin... can you stand up?"

Shaky, weakly, hesitant, Kevin does. His hands come to his face immediately, to hide the red eyes and the tears that Arnold knows are there. Arnold sees the way Kevin's shoulders are starting to hunch up around his ears again and _that's_ not good at all.

"Come here," he says, as he lies down on his own little bed. He holds out an arm and makes as much space as he can for Kevin to lie down in, but part of him expects Kevin to turn his back on Arnold and never talk to him again.

He doesn't.

He curls right into that space, into Arnold; he buries his face in Arnold's shirt, tangles their legs together, wraps his arms around Arnold's torso. Arnold holds on to him in return, through whatever storm is raging in Kevin's head. It's hot, this little space and their bodies together in the afternoon, but Arnold isn't about to complain about the sweat (or the way Kevin's hair curls at the temples, or the way his own hand in burning and red the way Kevin's rear must be, or-)

"I'm sorry," Kevin murmurs. His voice cracks as he gasps for air. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so-"

"Why are you sorry," Arnold says, even more comfortingly than he thought he was capable of. His hands come to rub up and down Kevin's back, to hold on to the back of his neck, to clutch at his beautiful, shining hair (which _is_ as soft as it looks). "You didn't do anything wrong, Kevin."

Something tells Arnold to repeat that, so he recites it over and over like a rosary prayer - _You didn't do anything wrong_ \- and Kevin's body is the chain he's clutching between his fingers; because Kevin _hasn't_. There's nothing wrong with being a submissive. Arnold _knows_ that pull in your chest when you need _someone_ , anyone to approve, to care, to- But he's a dom, now. The biggest proof of that (he thinks) is in how he feels _better_ (and _bigger_  and  _stronger_ ) as Kevin falls apart and comes back together in his arms.

The sobs dwindle down until Kevin is just sniffling; he wipes his eyes on Arnold's shirt.

"It didn't hurt that bad," he says. They both ignore how raw his throat sounds. "I wasn't crying because of the- because you were too rough. I don't want you to think that."

Arnold goes a little warm.

"Is there anything...?"

"Just let me stay for a bit."

Arnold smiles and breathes, slowly, evenly. "Okay," he says.

Kevin's chest presses against his as Kevin takes his own deep breath, and he doesn't shudder this time.

"Yeah," he whispers, "I'm okay."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave kudos/comments, or come say hi at my tumblr: [greerian](http://www.greerian.tumblr.com).


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